Love's Labor's Lost
by Isys
Summary: [Legolas/Aragorn] An official entry to The Library of Moria's April Archivists' Challenge. Set in TTT movie; the wall of Helm's Deep has been breached. Aragorn temporarily loses consciousness, but forever loses something else.
1. Love's Labor's Lost

Title: Love's Labor's Lost

**Author:** Isys (inner_frostbite@hotmail.com)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Genre/s:** Slash, Angst, Romance, Semi-AU

**Pairing:** Legolas/Aragorn

**Summary:** Set in TTT movie, in the middle of the battle in Helm's Deep, right up to the early events of RotK. The wall has been breached and Aragorn temporarily loses consciousness... but forever loses something else.

**Disclaimer:** _The Lord of the Rings_ is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, including all characters, names, and concepts herein. The title "Love's Labor's Lost" comes from the play of Shakespeare of the same title. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Notes:** This fic is especially written for the Library of Moria's April Archivists' Challenge, specifically for the topic **_d_**_**ark fic**_. Majority of the earlier parts is from Legolas' POV, and the rest should be easy to figure out. Composed of two parts - the former the main story, the latter an epilogue. Both shall be almost completely Aragorn/Legolas-centric.

Many thanks to Alura for the excellent (and truly encouraging) beta.

* * *

_He's alive._

Those words were the one coherent though I clung to as I saw you stride up the steps through the entrance of the Hornburg, at last putting my fears to rest.

Battered, true, and wounded, yes, but very much alive. Living and breathing, as I never thought I'd see you again.

It was you, Aragorn, who made my heart pause for the first time in despair and utter hopelessness when the rasping yet smugly self-satisfied words of Saruman's minions reached my ears. Naught I could grasp - a solid thought, a positive reassurance - could explain the truth I knew but could not accept - that you had fallen far from our reach.

Did you struggle, Aragorn? Did you vehemently refuse death to the very last moment? Or had you simply allowed it to wash over you, like the thrashing ocean tide upon the bleak sea shore, uncalled for yet soothing in its calmness? Had I been in your place, I would have defied it, fought it to my dying breath. And now, despite the bitter, beaten atmosphere lingering upon everyone and the conflicting anxiety of the fast approaching siege, I hope and trust that you'd do the very same, if not for me, then for the people of Rohan, for the race of Men, who trust you above all else.

The feeling was strange - _foreign_ - as I had never encountered such unsettling thoughts before; this sensation of drowning under merciless waves yet trusting the ocean's cold caress to find a way to float.

So I let myself believe. For what am I to your eyes? A companion, a comrade, a brother... but surely not someone who would make you smile in the face of war, cry in the absence of your voice, or shiver in the cold wake of your embrace.

Surely not someone to love, in the purest essence of the word. For you are, Aragorn of the Dunedain - who had guided us through nights darker than Mordor's black gate itself, led us in a way truly befitting the kingdom of Men's rightful heir, and whom I would trust and follow anywhere, whether it meant that I had to forsake my flesh and blood or my numberless days. Be you a king of every land in Middle-Earth or just any Ranger, your will is what binds me to my bow as a ruler is bound to his people.

I swear this by the light of Elbereth... but, as you ascended those steps, I could only stare and do nothing.

You continued forward, your shoulders weighed down by exhaustion and injury but your unwavering dignity still wrapped about you like a cloak. For the one of the first times in my whole life I found myself unable to speak. I gave you one long, searching look, a disguised attempt to find even just a glimmer - a sign - that my feelings were returned; then, finding none, swallowing my disappointment and spilling out the first words I could manage to find - "You're late."

Your surprise had passed quickly enough to look back at me, and I used it as an excuse to tear my gaze from yours to the damage the fall had born upon you - your hands newly scarred, your shoulder bloodied, and your clothes frayed with dust and earth.

"You look terrible," I had remarked dryly, indicating in his disheveled presence. _Terrible, yet still ever a king to my eyes._

With mounting regret yet compelled by a painful urge to do what I knew was only right, I slipped my hand inside my pocket, drew the shining jewel that I had picked up from the orc's filth encrusted hands, and placed it in yours. Of course it was only right - the jewel, along with its owner, belonged to you. Each one to his own.

Fitting, as I have neither you, nor any seeming chance to do so. Yet I am no thief, Estel. I know who captured your heart, and who rightly possesses yours. And sometimes, whenever I see the unbridled happiness, the hope garnered at the mere thought of her, I find the strength to let you go.

I treasure those times the most, because more oft than not I lose grasp of them.

You were my brother, my comrade, and nothing more. So now, when all that we are faced with are dark tidings of war, why must we fight like this? What disagreement can possibly so grave that they be brought to the fore now? It had begun right after Théoden King had given his order - to arm every soul within Helm's Deep in time for battle with Saruman's forces - an army that could have bested us if we had been thrice our number.

It was folly, that was what it was. Yet when I pointed that out to you, it was clear that this was where our principles truly differed and hindered our luck plainly was! For what can three hundred do against a bloodthirsty devilry of thousands, even with you, Aragorn - Isildur's heir, Elessar, and the Elfstone - with us? What were a few hundred men - some even children and simple farmers - to creatures who were so foreign to Men?

Hopeless. Their fighting chance is but a tiny pinprick of light in this darkening world. They will all die. I told you that, but you refused to listen, saying that you would rather die with them than lie idle.

Practicality was always inherent in elves, stubborn as you might have thought it seemed. Somehow, always they knew when to stop.

But you I could not stop when you turned away.

* * *

Aragorn sat alone on the steps leading to the Hornburg, the very same ones he'd walked up upon his return from the near-fatal fall. This time he felt no relief, nor eagerness or resolve - only exhaustion, frustration... helpless. Defeated. He despised that feeling the most, and here he was, fated to walk its path without thought of any respite.

Despair. It had conquered so many. Had it taken Legolas as well? Théoden himself, along with his people, had already so little to hope for - and the last person Aragorn had expected to fall with them was Legolas. He, who had chosen to aid Frodo in his quest without hesitation, standing for the elves, risking himself through the chill of Caradhras and the fires of Moria on the way, and spending sleepless nights in pursuit of their hobbit companions. Hopelessness was not part of that picture.

He sighed, his fists clenching tightly to each other as he recalled that harsh exchange of words. The elven tongue had been used, to spare his thoughts from the surrounding people. However, what the elf meant went under no guise. Elvish had always been pleasant to Aragorn's ear, but the raw bitterness in Legolas' words bore no resemblance to the one he was accustomed to hearing from him.

_[They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die.]_

Aragorn responded to it with the only way he could, and the hurt in Legolas' eyes was painfully clear. Yet what time did they have to mend petty fences, when time to defend their own lives was already ebbing away?

About him, hasty preparations for the upcoming battle had already begun. The Rohirrim - soldiers, children, and aged men alike - passed to and fro before him - some tired and spent, some grudgingly, some burdened with the bleak face of downfall. All had one thing in common: a sorrowful, almost wistful sense of regret, and a silent hope that the need to fight would pass.

A child seeming no older than twenty years crossed his line of vision, a sword clutched in his small hand. Stray hair spilled from his bowed head, shielding his face from view, but Aragorn failed to see in the boy's averted eyes the hardened, scathed look usually born by those who had wielded a sword in battle before. Instead there was mixed curiosity and dread... the look of childlike innocence.

The kind he had to fight to protect.

Slowly he got to his feet and walked back into the heart of the Hornburg. There was a battle to fight, and no time to lose. His only hope was that he would live long enough to remedy words that should have been left unsaid.

* * *

It had been several long hours into the battle. Haldir and his warriors had come, an unsullied defense had been erected around the exterior of the Deep, and the wall was holding up despite the massive force inflicted upon it, but that was not the reason for Aragorn's high spirits.

_Hannon le, Legolas, for believing in me._

For that was what the elf had told him, moments before the conflict had begun.

That they trusted him, purely and unconditionally. That he had never led them astray. That no despair could have come in the way of asking for forgiveness.

The thought heartened him beyond anything else. He felt no joy in taking a life, be it human or not, but with one sweep of Andúril's blade he cleaved a towering Uruk-Hai before him in half and stabbed a second behind it.

Suddenly, a glimmer of swiftly approaching torch-light caught at his senses, and Aragorn turned reflexively. A wild terror seized him at the sight as the distance between the Uruk-Hai wielding the torch and the drain rapidly dwindled, and already, piles of explosives littered the discreet but vulnerable outlet. One spark - just one touch of flame - could consume the explosives like a hungry beast and completely destroy the wall that arched above them - and everything would have been fought in vain.

Aragorn blanched in horror, for he knew naught of the presence of the drain until now.

"Legolas!" It was the elf's name that first escaped his lips, his voice but a vague echo over the swarming mass of battle. "Bring him down!"

To his relief, Legolas heard his frantic command - but the relief was short-lived. The Uruk-Hai was so heavily shielded with broad armor that one arrow was not enough to fatally wound it, and, though two arrows had now deftly embedded themselves in its skin, it only forged on relentlessly, plunging head-first into the drain.

Time seemed to stand still for a brief moment, and Aragorn could only hope against hope that the water contained within had somehow extinguished the flames...

Then everything exploded in a blinding flash of a white-hot blaze, spitting cracked fragments of the wall into the air like an angry volcano.

The heavy pieces of rock rained down in merciless torrents upon the helpless warriors, man, elf, and orc alike. Ladders fell, ropes severed; the earth beneath them seemed to quail in distress. Even the sky hung silently in grief, growing ominously darker and its rain continued to fall like tears as it mourned with a foreboding sense of despair.

_The wall has been breached.._

Stunned, Aragorn remained still, unable to move, unable to shield himself from the falling debris, _unable to think... _unable to grasp anything but for what was playing before him, a cruel scene from a macabre pageant. _The wall has been breached..._

"Aragorn!" A cry from behind him. "Run!"

His sword was frozen in his hand, his feet would not obey. _The wall has been breached..._

_"Run!"_

The urgency finally seized him, and Aragorn found the strength to flee from the deathly storm of the pieces of the wall.

He was but a heartbeat too late.

A huge rock fell, finding its target only too soon and striking Aragorn down with a force so great that everything flashed white for a moment before he fell to his knees at the impact. The ground rushed up to meet him, and as the battle raged on, his mind went black and he knew no more.

* * *

The wall of the Deep had been breached, despite that I hurried at once to answer you when you called. I failed to kill the uruk-hai, stop him from completely destroying the wall. Failure, defeat... guilt. I could not look upon the long bow still in my hands without the guilt of letting you down, letting Théoden down...

_[The defenses have to hold] _. Those words Gandalf had said to Aragorn, with the complete confidence of trust. Aragorn harbored the same confidence in me. And as my recompense, the bow I carried - the one given to me by the Lady Galadriel with such high hopes - was rendered useless.

Remnants of the wall still littered the air like bleak hailstones. Breathing hard, I did the only thing sheer instinct told me to - I crouched low, shielding myself from the onslaught of rocks and hoping that the others - you, Gimli, Haldir and his warriors - would have done the same.

You had not. I alone could see you, standing frozen as you watched the wall crumble, and the uruk-hai rushing forward like a roaring tide upon its wake.

Then I forgot about protecting myself.

"Aragorn!" I shouted until my throat burned from the effort. "Run!"

Still you did not move, raising in me an unrestrained panic, and I ran myself, in the impossible hope of breaching the gap between us the only fervent prayer in my mind. 

_"Run!"_

My cry at last was heeded, and you fled. Whatever relief this gave me did not last long. The next thing I knew, you were lying motionless on the ground, face down... and failing to stand again.

_No!_

I ran towards you, knifes unsheathed, the distance seeming insurmountable Already one of Saruman's grotesque creatures was approaching you, ready to trample on your body as though you were only rock strewn carelessly astray... I could not shoot him, for my quiver had long emptied, and my knives were all I had.

With unerring accuracy, I hurled one of them at his threatening figure. The deadly weapon whistled with speed, as it spun blade over hilt, burying itself in the Uruk-Hai's shoulder with the sickening sound of breaking skin. I had barely anything to defend myself save the last knife in my hand.

Roaring in anguish, the uruk-hai staggered backward from your body and wrenched from his shoulder the blade, stained nearly black with blood. It turned to me with a face terribly contorted with rage and flung the knife right back.

It missed... nearly. Like iron wires the pain of its passage seeped into my skin, from my wrist spreading to my entire arm, driving me almost unbearably to my knees before I caught a glimpse of you, still unmoving beside the now dead Uruk-Hai's body. I could not help a hiss of pain as I brought you up, carrying you as fast as I could, at the same time avoiding the arrows that continued to fly.

At last I found near a corner of the Burg a deserted area devoid of any signs of the battle. I moved you into a comfortable sitting position, gently brushing your unkempt hair from your face. "Aragorn," I whispered. "Can you hear me?"

You did not answer but for a moan of pain.

"Aragorn," I repeated, more fearfully this time, gripping his arm tight enough to bruise. "Aragorn! Do you not hear me? Say something..."

Just when my hope was waning, you woke. I could barely suppress a gasp, as eyes wide and dilated; you stared back at me, as though you saw nothing standing before you.

An unnamed fear seized me as I begun to imagine, with increasing dread, of the countless possibilities that the fall had inflicted upon you. Your skin was pale beyond health, and cold as winters past; leaving you a second longer in the bleak air of this battle was would only serve to worsen you. "Aragorn," I said urgently, trying to usher him to stand. "You cannot stay out here any longer - we must take shelter inside -"

"Wait," he mumbled weakly, his feet unsteady and in dire need of my arm to brace him.

The sound of his voice was enough, and my relief was immense. "Aragorn," I said gratefully. "Come, we must leave - "

When your lips finally parted to speak, no words could have possible described my shock.

"Who are you?"

* * *

And I could no more reply, only able stare back, and muster a prayer that I had not heard your words correctly.

Yet I had, as I will always. For to an immortal, time does little to diminish grief, and those words will forever echo, haunting me in dreaming and waking. There was no mistaking the empty bewilderment in your eyes, and the thin trickle of blood on your bruised temples. I knew enough to know what had happened, for if such an impact on the head failed to kill, it would bring the next most terrible consequence.

Memory loss.

Wounded, bleeding... tainted. Destroyed. I was no stranger to the presence of blood, but continue did it to seep from under your disheveled hair, mocking me in all its crimson glory.

Glory, triumph, indeed. It had won - over you, over your soul, over me. It was enough.

Pain, betrayal, freezing fear. For you did not know me! You looked into my eyes yet recounted no memory. I tried to answer, but barely even could I breathe, choked in withheld tears and mounting disbelief, desperately hope that all this was naught but a cruel nightmare, and in time I would wake and forget.

_Who am I? _I longed to scream at you._ Your friend, your brother... how could you have forgotten? Estel, it's me._

_Please..._

Yet all was in vain. You knew me not. The thought was too painful to bear one moment longer, and I could only reply, "A friend."

After all, that was probably no more than what you could see of me right now, as what remained of your strength gave out and you went limp in my arms, your eyes closed. Despite of your injury and the knife you had unknowingly stabbed into me, you never looked so beautiful. All it served was to hurt me more. All you were now is a shell, and the one who had given it life had fled, to a place far beyond my reach.

I leaned close to make certain you still breathed. You still were, and every warm caress of it against my cheek seemed to impale me like a sword. If you still lived, Estel, will I be one to share what you shall still remember?

It felt as though an impenetrable wall of ice had come between us... strangers. Such an unfamiliar word it is, Estel, with regards to you and I._ Strangers. _Yet carefully, gently, as though you were of crystal, I wrapped my own cloak about you and carried you as swiftly as I could without disturbing you, into the caves where I knew the Lady Éowyn was sheltering with the women and children of Rohan.

Ai, the irony of it all! Had I not been so stricken, I perhaps would have found it in myself to laugh, and for a bitter moment there I did. I never spoke of it, would have blindly denied it, but long have I desired for a moment so like this, a day that I could hold you like I held you now - close enough to hear your every sigh, every whisper that escapes your lips. Night after night I raised my eyes to the stars, hoping that somehow my silent prayer went not unheeded by the grace of the Valar.

It had not. They had granted my wish... and shattered my soul at the same time. As I looked on you, I could only wonder - was it all worth it?

Soon I had made it inside the Hornburg, and down to the sheltered caverns where the women and children of Rohan took cover. Little paid me any interest, to my utmost relief, for they too were far gone in their own fears - of the safety of their husbands in the bitter fate of battle, of their sons, compelled despite their innocent youth to wield a weapon and defend their kin. Of how the war would come to an end - an answer none were any wiser to give. Not even you, Estel, and your persistence to unveil that answer brought you nigh to your own death.

At last I found the lady Éowyn, and she came to my side at once. Worried and shocked she was at the sight of you lying motionless in my arms, mirroring my own feelings, but she immediately led me to a corner, where I laid you among the thick blankets set aside to tend to the wounded.

"You're wounded, Master Elf," she pointed out, motioning at the bleeding gash where the Uruk-Hai had struck me.

"Nay," I answered firmly, although the sting of the wound was growing every second. My voice quieted. "Please - take care of him first."

I felt utterly useless as I could only stand and watch Éowyn attend to you, seeming so small and fragile covered by my own cloak. What could I have done, when I myself I could not heal? Betrayed, wounded.

Broken.

How terribly fortunate you are, Estel, to have a woman's hands to nurse you, because, try as I may, that would do naught for me.

"What happened?" Éowyn asked, trying and failing to mask her fear, and rendering me speechless for the second time in as many minutes.

The sorrow in my face could probably speak more than words too painful to articulate, and that was all I could reply with. Wordless, I forced myself to tear my gaze away from the question in Éowyn's eyes, back to the insistent call of the battle outside, the battle which I still had a chance to win. The wall may have been breached, as many things have been, but what more had I to lose? For this fight in here I had clearly lost.

* * *

_The battle for Helm's Deep is over - the battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin._

The battle was over. Already the rebuilding of the Deep had begun - the people of Rohan had come out from the caves, in tearful reunions with their family. Now it was only us - myself, Gimli, Gandalf, King Théoden, and Éomer, ready to take the next step. Gandalf's words echoed in my ears, strong and true, but it was no more than a shadow in a dream. When I awoke, I only realized one thing - that Gimli still sat behind me, but Aragorn rode not by my side.

Curse you, Estel. You're a fool, do you know that?

You knew of the perils we were about to face. Three hundred inexperienced men, against ten thousand orcs, shielded in iron and breaking like a furious stream upon charred wood! Yet my fears you left unheard. I could only wish you could see yourself, Aragorn. Look at you - have you any joy now, having triumphed over this battle that left you unable to enjoy its glory, short though it is? Are you happy, then? You surprise me with the wergild you are prepared to pay - one who is still fated for so many greater things. Now you barely remember what more you are still bound to do, much less who is willing to walk that destined path with you.

It would be a pure lie to say that you have not angered me. Because you have - every single time you chose to risk your mortal life without heed of what you might leave behind. For believing in hope even when it is as elusive as a grain of sand washed away by the Sea.

You were the person to look up to from the very beginning, and I hated you for that. Fool, betrayer, traitor...

King.

But true, they say there is a fine line between hate... and something more. It is that knife I walk on every day, and it hurts, Estel, not knowing when one slip can cause me to fall on the blade. Yet I did not - not when there was the Ring to destroy and a war to fight. And when I heard you say those words...

_[Who are you?]_

... It was only a matter of time. Everyone grieved when they found out what had happened to you, Estel, even Gandalf. There was none left we could do save to wait for your recovery, rare and distant the chance may be, but the pull of Middle-Earth's fortune proved too strong to ignore and we had no choice but to go on without you. Yet... your name means hope in my kindred tongue, does it not? I had lost mine.

A gust of wind drifted from the East, and, without the cloak I had given away, I shivered, not only because of the chill in the air, but the chill from whence it came.

Traces of crimson still lingered on my fingers - some dark and coppery as of orc blood, some trickling like tears as of the blood of the Elvish... some of Aragorn's, when I carried him into the safety of the keep. When I held up my hand, the streaks of red stood out boldly like sparks of lightning against a sky of Sea, a scar that could not be slain, only disguised by the mask of tears.

So I let it. A single tear found its way down my cheek before I wiped it away.

I now knew what I had to do.

"Your silence surprises me, Legolas," Gimli's comment bore upon my reverie.

I could only smile grimly, thankful that Gimli sat behind me and my face was hidden from his. "As well as you do, friend Gimli. So, what now of your skill to ride?"

A proud tilt of his bearded chin. "Growing better each day."

"Then, if so -" with one graceful, nimble gesture I swung myself off the back of the horse, leaving the dwarf perched alone and stunned. Yet now I could feel little remorse for leaving my dear friend and deserting the rest for my own purposes. Selfish? Nay, never. Selfish men knew what they wanted, and pursued it for their own fulfillment, knowing who they were and where they were going. Not I; the knife that I had spent treading on for many days had won at last. 

Call me not selfish, Aragorn, but it is unthinkable, existing and knowing that I'm naught but some other stranger for you.

A final pat for Gimli, on his arm that now clutched the reins of the horse. He was a precious friend and deserved one better than I.

I smiled at the face I knew I would not see for a long, long time. "You need me not any longer."

* * *


	2. Love's Labor's Lost Epilogue

Title: Love's Labor's Lost (Epilogue)

**Author:** Isys (inner_frostbite@hotmail.com)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Genre/s:** Slash, Angst, Romance, Semi-AU

**Pairing:** Legolas/Aragorn

**Summary:** Set in TTT movie, in the middle of the battle in Helm's Deep, right up to the early events of RotK. The wall has been breached and Aragorn temporarily loses consciousness... but forever loses something else.

**Disclaimer:** _The Lord of the Rings_ is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, including all characters, names, and concepts herein. The title "Love's Labor's Lost" comes from the play of Shakespeare of the same title. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Notes:** This fic is especially written for the Library of Moria's April Archivists' Challenge, specifically for the topic **_d_**_**ark fic**_. Majority of the earlier parts is from Legolas' POV, and the rest should be easy to figure out. Composed of two parts - the former the main story, the latter an epilogue.

Many thanks to Alura for the excellent (and truly encouraging) beta.

* * *

It was beginning of the fifth day since the conclusion of the battle at the Deep, and the first rays of the sun were slowly streaming a golden path down the mountains of the east until they came to rest on a dark stone edifice, casting long, foreboding shadows like claws on the mountainside: the walls of the Dunharrow, situated south of the capital of Rohan as lines of black, marching stones - some tall, some short, some leaning, like frozen soldiers scattered in the midst of battle.

Such were the worn walls that were the work of long-forgotten men and where the people of Rohan, torn from their homes at the call of war, sought refuge from the battle at the Deep.

The day also saw the departure of Gandalf with the Théoden King from Helm's Deep to north. As the sun rose ever thither to the sky, it cast a shadow upon a lone figure, bright and stark against her pale hair - of Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, Lady of Rohan. For to her was entrusted the responsibility of guarding over the Lord of the Mark's people - like any woman's hands could - while he journeyed north to contend with unfinished business.

Éowyn, however, beneath her fair face and feminine stature, was no mere woman shrouded in a timid veil. She had hands that could tend and heal as well as wield a sword, and a fiery spirit to rival even the greatest warlords - impassioned and free, waiting at its own pace for an opportunity to burst forth with all its strength and will. For the people of Rohan, for her uncle and King, or even just for a chance to prove the worth she would never find behind the bars of a cage.

As she had told him, Aragorn, the long-awaited heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Men, when he asked.

_[What do you fear, lady?]_

[A cage. To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire...]

No truer statement could she have spoken. And now, as Éowyn stood motionless outside the camps she and the people had set up and watched the sun rise, she could feel the cold, cruel hands of that very fear growing over her, chilling in its reality.

Her gaze strayed to the cluster of tents to her right, one of which Lord Aragorn himself was staying, in the beginning of his fifth day of recovery ever since the unfortunate injury at the Deep. She could hold the memory like a ruthless painting before her eyes - of Legolas, his arms supporting Aragorn's wilted, lifeless body, carrying his comrade to the inner caverns of the Hornburg. The Ranger's face was starkly pale, devoid of blood like earth drained of rain, and a trickle of crimson was visible from a wound on his forehead. When Éowyn, her own face growing white at the sight of him, asked Legolas urgently of what had happened, the elf had given no reply except for the sorrowful, stricken look in his usually impassive eyes that spoke more than the injury itself. Distraught, Éowyn despaired to seek the answer herself, though completely unprepared for the truth.

Aragorn had lost his memory.

In the several days since that fateful night, Aragorn's recovery by her hand had been swift so far, coming nearer and nearer to the man she had first met - the man who had so struck her by the fire in his eyes and the leader in his soul - at that time back in King Théoden's hall. Closer, and closer, and Éowyn, with strange reluctance, knew that in any moment's time he would then take leave once more to battle, leaving her with the same emptiness and doubt she felt whenever her brother or the king departed - an uncertainty if she would ever see him again. Although it had been long since she had hoped of winning Aragorn's heart for her own, his welfare had been her sole thought every day.

Gandalf himself had spoken to her ere he and his company left the Deep - of what to say to Aragorn should he question their absence.

_Think not of dark tidings, Lady of Rohan, _she could still hear his wise words as clearly as yesterday._ Trust his will, as I trust you with him._

And with that thought to heart she anxiously watched the camp where he rested, waiting for him to emerge. The gray elven cloak that had been draped around Aragorn's cold, bruised shoulders that night was in her hands, freshly cleaned and folded, along with the leaf-shaped brooch that had held it in place.

As if in response to the call of her thoughts, the entrance flap parted and he stepped out into the morning sunlight. Despite her private concerns, Éowyn moved to his side at once and greeted him politely.

"Good morning, lady," he said quietly, accepting the cloak in her proffered hands.

Finding nothing more to say, Éowyn left to attend to the other people, who were already starting to wake, as Aragorn unfurled the cloak. Éowyn missed the perplexed look that crossed his eyes until he called.

"Éowyn."

She turned instinctively at the urgent note in his voice. Aragorn, the not yet donned cloak still in his arms, was holding the brooch under intense scrutiny, turning it over on his fingers, its sharply etched, detailed relief worn like windblown sand dunes, and gazing at it as though reliving a hazy, far-off dream. "What is it, my lord?"

"Where did you find this?" he asked, his tone distant yet oddly pleading.

Surprised, Éowyn approached him to see the brooch and the cloak he held. They were of the ones fashioned by the elves in Lothlórien, one that she had seen Aragorn with far longer than the time since she had made his acquaintance. Although the lustrous surface of the brooch had faded with age, the workmanship was plainly distinct as one from the elves of the north. "It's from the forests of the Golden Wood, my lord, crafted by the elves," she replied as succinctly as she could, carefully concealing her worry at the expression on the Ranger's face - wiped clean of emotion, or of anything else, except for the piercing gaze as though the brooch and the cloak had caught fire. "You have had it for a long time."

"Nay, lady," Aragorn said; his eyes left the items in his hands for the first time to hold her gaze. "These are not mine."

And Éowyn had naught left to say, her words dying in her throat, to answer the question in his eyes. Had Aragorn not worn the cloak, when he first set foot in the halls of Meduseld many days ago? Was it not about him during the attack of the wargs of Isengard? And was it not over his back when Legolas took him to the safety of the caverns five nights has passed? Éowyn stared at him with carefully concealed alarm - never before had she seen him so blank, so void like he was but an empty shell, but the persistence in him as he held the cloak with paling hands was disquieting.

"Are you certain, lord?" she asked cautiously. "Have you not possessed these long before?"

"True, my lady, I had donned one just like this ere I arrived, and so had the rest of my company," he replied. "But I know beyond recall - for I treasured it as a gift both in war and slumber - this is not the gift the Lady of the Golden Wood had bestowed upon me."

_... so had the rest of my company. _The words struck a chord within Éowyn, and she looked up suddenly. "Others of your company had worn such a cloak, then?" In her mind's eye she could visualize the group of four that had entered Théoden's halls, that day. "Master Gandalf, Master Legolas, Master-"

He spoke so unexpectedly swiftly that Éowyn barely finished. "My lady," he said, his tone very low, and evidently severely held in check, like a raging tide trapped within a cage. The shadowy, heated appearance was back on his face. "Whose name did you just speak of?"

She could not mask her bewilderment this time around, nor her unease. Her hand clutched Aragorn's rigid one, forcing him to face her, and she nearly gasped. His eyes were wide and dilated, as though finally awakening from a long, troubled sleep, and the hand held in hers was chilly - almost of death. His stare bore through her like a sharp blade, thirsting to sting and cut, and it terrified her.

"My lord, what is wrong?" she pleaded through the tears that were welling in her eyes. "Why do you ask such questions?"

Aragorn remained still, like a statue of ice under the slow agony of the sun, his arms beginning to shake. "Who was he, my lady?" he demanded, his voice rising like she'd never heard before, and the desperation in them was frightening. "Who was he?"

He? Frantic, Éowyn recalled of what she had said ere Aragorn asked. _Master Gandalf, Master Legolas..._

_Legolas. _Many times had she seen the elf that rode ever by Aragorn's side, and seldom were they ever without the company of one another. Little she knew about him - for never before had she dealt with his kindred - and he rarely spoke; oft he seemed bereft of any emotion or distress spare the indefinable sparks in his eyes. He was very beautiful in a quiet, unspoken way, as the tales of men had always so described, but Éowyn merely saw him as part of Aragorn, and little else.

Yet to Aragorn he now seemed so much more. Éowyn took a deep breath, with one hand she hastily brushed her tears away. "Legolas, my lord."

Even breathing seemed to be torturous for Aragorn, who appeared to be fighting savagely to retain his composure. "What knew you of him, lady?"

"He was an elf, one of those in your company," answered Éowyn, keeping her voice as calm as possible. "He rode by your side for days twelve times twelve, through your mission, through pursuit and war. He was your companion, your brother, your friend-"

She had yet to finish when Aragorn fled from her side, and she was certain she had heard him choke back a cry.

* * *

"My lord, what is wrong?" She was clearly despairing, her hand on mine in a vise-like grip so mirroring the icy fingers that had already clutched at myself. There was a deafening roar in my ears, like the relentless stamp of horse hooves on the unyielding ground, that I had to strain to hear her, much less through the pounding of my own heart.

It had started all so simply, I remembered, awakening to a beautiful sunrise and fresh mountain air that I had almost forgotten what was happening leagues from where I and the people of Rohan were - what was stirring at the east where the sky had ominously darkened to a fell shade of black, randomly exploding in a bright scarlet as the cone of Orodruin burst forth in its wrath yet again. I had almost forgotten about the others who still stood valiantly against Saruman's massive army and were now fearlessly facing the next hurdle - the battle at Minas Tirith, for the men's race.

For _my_ race.

Yet strangely enough, although I felt so helpless unable to fight, I hadn't resisted.

After all, I had every reason not to. I knew what fate had befallen me the moment the Uruk-Hai had destroyed the walls of Helm's Deep - and what it had taken from me. I was fighting to earn it back, little by little. Yet, though under the Lady of Rohan's gentle care, I felt different, unreal, like a mold cast in the likes of me but hollowed out like a chasm deep within. Like a faceless mask whose true identity was still somewhere else, seeking, for what I didn't know.

I felt like a creation of trickery, forged inexplicably by someone else, but I kept my silence... until now.

"Why do you ask such questions?" she was asking, tears shining in her eyes. It pained me to see the panic in them, but it was quickly numbed by the knowledge she had unknowingly revealed, so sudden and swift like a razor-sharp blade of ice.

Even I myself could not answer her in her distress, as I could no longer do little else anymore but ask, "Who was he?"

So slowly, carefully, honestly, as though one flaw could splinter my already fragile resolve that I was nearly driven to my knees, she answered.

Legolas, she said, and that was all. A myriad of colors flashed past my eyes, as though the mere word escaping her lips had my very soul consumed like a moth in a flame. Like flesh and blood set on fire, and only one thing could give it respite - the soothing relief of water, and for me, the answer to my question that only she could give. Legolas, she said, and that was enough.

I wrenched myself out of my reverie soon enough to hear that she was still speaking. "... through pursuit and war. He was your companion, your brother, your friend - "

From there I could not bear to hear any longer. I felt my composure crack under the burden of accepting where my mind had failed days ago and finally shatter, giving way to the dark numbness of sheer instinct. One thought - one memory unfazed - however invaded and overshadowed me above all else: a brief snatch of conversation, little more than a few words, a testimony to a truth I myself couldn't accept.

_[Who are you?]_

[A friend.]

As though the very memory had burned and chased after me, I ran, the cloak still clenched in my fingers, blindly, as far as I could get from the camp.

As far away as possible. I could not let Éowyn see me like this.

Legolas. So that had been him - the stranger, the elf who had born me away from the clamor of battle when I lost consciousness. The one who had tried to rouse me back to my senses, unable to leave me alone. The one who I had pushed away, farther that I could ever think of, with so very few words. Heartless, I mocked myself, as memories of the elf flooded in, burning hot like liquid fire. What had I done?

Finally, the seemingly endless labyrinth of rocks opened to an empty outcropping, a narrow ledge stretching away from the steep face of the mountain towards the horizon. Unlike the stone-strewn ground where the people of Rohan had erected their tents, this place was devoid of anything more than a carpet of lush green grass, warmed by the gentle breath of the rising sun. I let myself drop to the ground, like a lone snowflake coming to rest, and allowed the wind to blow past... allowing it to wash everything away - the troubles of the days past, the beckoning of the days to come.

Yet it was the ache of what already was that remained nigh.

Heavy footfalls sounded behind me; Éowyn approached, breathing hard from her pursuit, with much worry in her eyes as she knelt beside me. "Lord Aragorn..."

"He has gone, has he not," I said quietly before she could ask any further.

Not even I could explain how this I knew - that Legolas had left. He wasn't with Gandalf, or with Gimli, beloved a friend as he was. Many times had Legolas spoken so fondly of the Sea and the blessed realm beyond, his face so akin to the sunlight and his eyes the music of the stars. Great was his desire to sail, this I knew, as I knew that there he would be when we finally part ways. I never expected it this soon, and I never expected him to take a part of me away as well.

So somehow, I knew that he was no longer around. Never will I hear the songs he used to sing, the sweet voice of the star-goddess Elbereth mirrored in his own. Never will I see him, his eyes brightly clear, the only one I knew who could wield a bow with such flawless skill, slaying as fast as he could bring my spirit to life. Never will I hear him whisper words of comfort when I find myself bitterly spent, finding little hope in what I had to face.

All I had now was a small shred of his clothing, and the formless memory of the last words we shared, and even that failed to bring me repose. How much I had hurt him, I couldn't even fathom myself. Had he known that I had not meant those cruel words, as I never would? Or had he believed that I truly didn't recognize him back then and I had unknowingly set him on a sorrowful path to the Undying lands?

Éowyn said naught, and naught was all that I needed. For what could her answer do to reverse what was already done, what had already been frozen and immortalized by Time? Legolas - my friend, my brother, _mine_ - was gone, and try as I might to drown it, it would never change.

Neither did I think I could keep going. Fate, destiny, my rightful position as the king of Gondor... all empty promises, that was what they were. Little could I care if the wind grew, blowing and chilling me until I was little more than flesh and blood with a void heart of stone. One could call me selfish, but that wasn't what I was anymore. Selfish persons knew who they were, and what made them. I did not.

Why couldn't you have waited, Legolas? I could curse you to my dying days for losing hope in me...

Tighter my hand clenched around the cloak, as though in hope to find some distant reply.

"You blame yourself," Éowyn said.

Brokenly, I whispered, "Who else can I find fault in, my lady?"

"In life," she replied quietly. "for existing as unjustly as it does. In time, for insisting to have its own way and forsaking yours. In the world, for turning day by day as though the sun never shone or the moon never waxed and waned upon it. In many other things, which are beyond our power to change, and all one could do is despise them." A sliver of a lighthearted smile appeared in the corners of her mouth. "And in those Uruk-Hai, may I add."

To my surprise I actually found myself returning the smile, the first genuine one in a long, long time, and for the first time since I found out about Legolas, I felt the smallest twinge of hope blossom in the optimism in Éowyn's words, the hope that I so needed right now. The truth, beautiful in its sincere simplicity, was enough; even the sky seemed to lighten with its own smile. "Maybe."

"After all," she continued. "It was they who destroyed the walls, not you."

"Right."

"They were doubtless overcome with envy since they couldn't be as beautiful as Legolas even if they tried."

"Precisely." I could not suppress my mirth at the thought.

There was an impish sparkle in her eyes, bright and teasing. "And they obviously know," she went on, "that whatever hand they may lay on Legolas would be fruitless, since he and you have hearts set for each other."

"Very tru -_ what?" _I turned a startled gaze at her; I had not considered what she was saying before I replied.

The shield maiden of Rohan was unable to keep from laughing, her unbound hair dancing in the sunlit sky. "Pardon my amusement, my lord," she said. "But answer this to me truly - who is Legolas to thee?"

I closed my eyes, as the mere mention of his name pained me, and in the dark I could see his face as clearly as yesterday. And when I opened my eyes again, the image faltered and disappeared; I was back where he wasn't. Tears threatened to choke me as I spoke, reluctantly yet meaning every single word.

"Naught more than what you seen," I answered softly. "Just - the most courageous, most loyal person I know of."

Éowyn was silent, all traces of laughter gone from her pensive face. "I'm certain he says the same of you."

"But he left," I said, a hint of bitterness there.

"Because he believes in you," she replied gently. "Because he knows you will continue with unwavering strength to complete what you are meant for, be he with you or not." She paused, and the next thing she said I valued above all else. Brief though it was, I held that thought close.

"Because he trusts in you."

I could only bow my head in a quiet affirmation, but I could not deny that I felt my heart lift at those simple words and the truth they held. Long years had it been since Lord Elrond told me of my true identity; Legolas knew of that as well, and, unbeknownst to him, had helped me every step of the way. But soon the path would split in two, and narrowed so that only one could tread that path alone.

I knew what path was laid before me - a path that I will walk with all certainty, faith, and the assurance that wherever I ventured, someone would be watching over me. We were but fine dust in the drifting wind; Legolas' time had passed, as mine would, in some day unknown.

I may no longer have my dear friend, but I had his word, and that is all I can ask for now.

Having made my decision, I cast one last glance over the vast expanse of land, over the ridges of the mountains to the far reaches of the Sea... and back to my hands, where Legolas' cloak still lay, folded and silent. Carefully, as though it were made of glass, I draped it over my own shoulders and fastened it with the elven pin.

A cloak against the storm, and the brooch a seal of a promise.

_Your friends are with you Aragorn, _I remembered him say before the battle at the Deep started, and with that I found the courage to turn away, back to the camp, back where I was needed, where I should be, because, despite our grief, I knew that you, Legolas, spoke the truth. Always. I would not let you or anyone else down, despite the fact that that you have left my side. You have given much; I only mourn that time was not by my side long enough to tell you that.

The cry of a gull pierced the silence - a nameless call, a song carried aloft by the wind and the Sea. Right now the world was waiting, and I had a duty to fulfill, a promise to keep.

I turned to Éowyn, who had remained beside me and whose fair face broke into a smile when I finally asked:

"So, my dear lady, when can I go forth to battle in the east?"

*Finis*

_"Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky_

_It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy_

_Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind..."_

-- Kansas, "Dust in the Wind"

**Author's Notes** (yet again):

According to my research, concussions such as the one that Aragorn [presumably] had do not take a long time to recover whatever memories were temporarily lost. If one checks the timeline in Appendix B of RotK, the battle in the Deep happened on March 3, 3019 and Aragorn went through the Paths of the Dead five days later. Anyway, consider these five days enough recovery time for Aragorn, and the events in RotK resume as usual - however, without Legolas in the picture.

This story is semi-AU because (1) of course Aragorn didn't suffer memory loss in Helm's Deep, and (2) the five days that Aragorn spent in recovery were actually for the time when they go to Isengard with Gandalf.

Thanks for reading and God bless.

Isys


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